“Remember what I said?” he says hoarsely.
I breathe in deeply and relax my sphincter. The second I do, he slides his dick home. It’s not an especially hard thrust, but it’s purposeful. The intention behind it is to fill me, and it does. I grunt in surprise from the quick change; alone in my body the one second and perfectly full the next. He takes my hips in both hands and starts pistoning in and out of me. Long, steady strokes that chase away any thought of clenching or pushing him out. I mash my face into my shoulder to keep myself quiet, but it only helps so much. If someone walked by, they’d be under no doubt as to what we’re up to. The thought scares and excites me. It heightens my senses. I hear the soft swish of leaves beside me and the crunch of twigs and debris under our feet. I feel the cool breeze where I’m naked. It’s different, but I like it. I feel what he’s doing differently too. It feels different to be penetrated when I’ve already come. Sensitive and raw. I feel his hands on my body differently too. He’s holding me hard, harder than he has before. Each thrust jolts me, slamming into me, sending me lurching forward precariously. He has me though. He has me in both hands and he makes sure I’m not going anywhere.
After a while he pulls me back by the shoulders, so I’m standing upright with my lower back arched hard. He reaches around and takes my dick in his hand. It’s confused by his touch. It’s not sure what to do with it; swell or recoil. I started to soften after I came, then I started thickening again when he penetrated me. I moan loudly when he touches me. I’m onlythismuch on the right side of oversensitive.
“Come for me, Blue,” he growls.
“I can’t! Ijustcame.”
“Sure you can, and you’re going to, ‘cause I’m not going to stop till you do.”
His voice and words seep into me. I feel his intention. I know him. I understand him, and I understand beyond a shadow of doubt that he means what he says. He’ll fuck me until the sun comes up in the morning if he has to, but he’s not going to stop unless I come again.
I adjust myself, shifting my hips and bending my legs, so he hits my spot right. I adjust my mind too. I let it go vacant. I let it become flooded with nothing but the sounds of the night and the feeling of Jessie. Inside me. Behind me. Wrapped around me. Slamming into me hard. Pleasure builds. It builds so hard and so furious, I feel afraid. I feel like I’m in the water. Deep. Paddling out to the backline. Waiting for a wave. I feel that familiar quake of being faced with something that’s bigger than I thought. Bigger than I can handle. It surges up over my head and crashes down. It overwhelms and submerges me. It starves me of oxygen and fills my lungs. It forces excruciating pleasure through my balls and up my dick and my spine. Jessie’s meaty palm mashes down over my mouth, catching most of the rasping sound of my pleasure, but not all of it. He wraps his arms around my chest and holds me up so I can take what he has left without collapsing. He crashes into me with total abandon. Three, four, five more times before his thrusts lose their stride. He pulls me down onto him hard, frantically grinding against me, balls deep inside me as he cries out into the night.
When it’s over, he pulls out carefully, quickly zipping up. He looks around furtively, making sure no-one heard us. I struggle with my underwear, half-embarrassed, half-amused by what we’ve done now that my mind is clearing. He must feel the same as he’s emitting a soft, happy sound. He moves my trembling hands out of the way and does up my fly for me.
We walk the rest of the way home in silence. Every step I take reminds me of what we just did. His load and mine leak out of me. Warming me and slickening my ass cheeks as they rub together.
As we round the bend and see the house, he shoots me a filthy smile and says, “You filled your shorts yet?”
I slap his shoulder lightly and roll my eyes. He answers by grabbing me by the ass. He worms his hand down, grabbing at me again and parting my cheeks this time, disturbing what we both made and making me doubly aware of its presence.
“I need a shower,” I say as a heady wave of humiliation and something else washes over me.
I open my eyes and blink into a bright room. If it’s still morning, it isn’t morning by much. The sun streaming in through the crack in the curtains isn’t the skittish light of the early hours. It’s bold and sure of itself. It’s made up its mind; another perfect California summer day it is. I don’t need to call out to know that Jessie isn’t here. I can feel it. The lack of his presence. The empty space. The guest house feels calmer without him, less frenzied and crazed.
I hate it.
I get out of bed and look around on the floor for my sleeping shorts. The shower we both needed last night turned into a shower for two. By the time we got out, the last thing either of us wanted was sleep. When he said I was done with training wheels, he meant it. I lean down to pull up my shorts and wince from the motion.
Don’t care.
Totally worth it.
I freeze when I reach for my phone on my desk. He must have been up for a while before me. He’s been busy. He’s done another sketch and instead of fighting me for it, he’s left this one out for me to see.
It’s a buff, blond guy at a club. He’s wearing all black and his chin is tilted down. He’s lifting the hem of his top as if he means to use it to wipe sweat from his face or something. His nipple and abs are exposed. He has a determined look in his eyes. It’s a powerful image. He looks like a force. An unstoppable force.
Jessie used color this time, pink and purple, an opaque wash that highlights the features of his version of me. It’s surreal to see myself like this. To see myself through his eyes. A two dimensional figure, an illustration that somehow pulses with life. It makes me want to cry. I don’t, though. I smile instead, because for the first time since I met him, I feel a serene sense of certainty.
An understanding.
A deepknowingthat as much as I’m his, he’s mine.
19
Jessie
There’ssomethingaboutLukethat’s different. I can’t put my finger on it, but I can feel it. For the last few weeks, he’s been different around me. I don’t know when or how it happened, I only know that it did. He doesn’t flinch when I try to get space from him. The scared, on-the-edge-of-being-hurt look is gone. It’s been replaced with a sureness that confuses the fuck out of me. It’s like he can see straight through my bullshit. Like it doesn’t bother him. Like it doesn’t apply to him the way it applies to other people.
It annoys the living shit out of me.
It also turns me on harder than anything I’ve ever experienced.
Our fucking is different, too. I’m holding back less. I don’t feel like I could break him at any minute. He lets me say and do things to him that I’ve never said or done to anyone. It’s not just that he lets me, it’s that he wants it. He burns for it as much as I do.
The other day I told him I was going to fuck him until my dick hurt. I wasn’t touching him. I was standing six feet away from him. We were alone in the kitchen in the main house. He was looking at me when I said it and when my words landed he moaned.
